Harry Potter 1. The Beginning

_I first started this two years ago. I read it over again recently and I realized how badly written it was and how much missed potential there is. So, I'm going to re-write it. I'll be keeping a fair few chapters the same, just embellishing them, but I shall make some drastic changes later I think._

_Feed-back would be much appreciated._

Closer

The Beginning 

Albus Severus Potter stood looking wistfully out of the window long after Platform Nine and ¾,and his father, had disappeared, not knowing whether to be overjoyed or completely lost. His father's words had cheered him immensely; but James' relentless taunting had really upset him – he had actually begun to fear that his brother was right, that he _did _belong in Slytherin. And after hearing his brother's stories of the types of people placed in that house and the deeds those Slytherins got up to in the corridors of Hogwarts, Albus really couldn't imagine anything worse.

"_It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."_

"_Really?"_

"_It did for me."_

Feeling a little more confident, Albus turned to speak to his cousin Rose, only to find she was no longer standing beside him. He whipped his head back and forth, hoping to catch sight of her retreating. Apart from a few of the older students changing in between compartments, he was quite alone.

All alone.

Embarrassingly, a lump began to form in his throat and helpless tears stang his bright green eyes – but, immensely annoyed with himself, he swallowed them back. He wouldn't cry. James would never let him live it down.

So instead, he started to search for somewhere to sit.

Alone.

Nearly every compartment was full with rowdy students; talking, shouting and laughing all mixed together in a chaotic roar that was quite intimidating to a lonely, lost first year.

Every now and then, the boy passed compartments that were half full, but the people inside always looked so much older than him, so much taller. They had the self-assured air of veteran students and Albus was too afraid to talk to them.

Eventually, his sorry predicament came to an end. Near the back of the train, he came across a compartment with only one sole occupant: a thin blonde girl with a magazine spread neatly across her lap. He could see from her plain robes that she was a first year too, and his worry-tightened chest loosened up a bit.

Still, Albus' timid nature wouldn't let him enter directly, and he couldn't help hesitating a while before drawing back the sliding door.

As it opened, the girl looked up from her reading and fixed him with a calm and steady gaze. The first thing that struck Albus was her eyes – the irises were two strikingly different colours. The left was a bright grass green, and the other was a light gray. They were framed by large sunflower yellow glasses, gems of all colours had been hand-stuck onto them. Her hair was the colour of sunlight, curly and wild – it looked like she has never brushed it in her life, she had tried to pin it up, but the wild mass had mostly broken free, surrounding her head with a yellow aura.

She smiled.

"Hello." She spoke softly, her voice was light and gentle, Albus wondered if she was shy – but her voice had a distant quality to it like she wasn't quite living in the same world as everyone else.

"Hello." Albus returned the greeting. He stood awkwardly, feet turned into each other, and his hands playing absent-mindedly with his robes. His palms began to sweat and the saliva seemed to completely disappear from his mouth.

He cleared his throat, cursing his own awkwardness. "Is it alright if I sit there?" He pointed at the bench opposite her.

Her multi-coloured eyes followed his pointing finger. "Of course."

Albus felt a nervous smile of relief spread across his thin face. "Thank you." And he meant it. He was beginning to believe he would never find a place; he'd had visions of wondering the Express forever, never stopping – a childish apprehension, but sometimes Albus found himself thinking of, and coming to dread, the weirdest of things.

He moved into the compartment, the door sliding softly closed behind him; sitting on the edge of the seat, he quickly observed his surroundings, and gave the passing scenery a little of his attention. Every now and then, his eyes would flicker momentarily on his companion. The girl had returned to the magazine, her head bent. One thick, wild strand of hair fell into her face; she tucked in behind her ear several times, only to have it break free and rebelliously slide back into her face.

"What are you reading?" Albus felt he needed to break the silence, and anyway, he felt that he wanted to get to know this girl better – he wanted to have at least one friend before setting foot into Hogwarts, and he assumed the train would be the best place to start.

"The Quibbler." She spoke without lifting her head.

"The Quibbler." He repeated. He knew about the Quibbler, or at least, he'd heard it mentioned. An old friend of his parents, Luna Scamander, was the editor. "I know the editor of that." He wanted to make conversation, but his efforts were pitiful – he was not a social genius like his elder brother.

She raised her eyes at his last comment, a large and goofy grin stretching her small lips. "So do I. She's my mother." The girl closed the magazine and placed it to her side. She simply observed him for a moment, the goofy grin still plastered over her face.

Long after her steady gaze had made Albus uncomfortable, she offered him her hand to shake. "I'm Isis Lovegood."

He took it – she had a limp, weak grip. "I'm Albus. Albus Potter."

"You're James' brother." It was an observation, not a question, but still Albus felt that he should offer some sort of reply – he liked the fact she was willing to talk.

He nodded. "How did you know that?"

"He tripped me up earlier." The smile never faltered from her face. Her large, languid eyes remained calm and dispassionate.

Albus went on to apologise for his brother, but Isis stopped him by raising her hand for silence. "I'm used to it." She said, almost in a reassuring manner. Then they slipped back into silence, Isis turning her steady gaze out of the window. Albus, after a while, did the same.

"I think our parents knew each other." Albus was the first to speak again, afraid that the silence was due to him and his failings – James had ingrained this into his head. "I've heard them talk and stuff. I think she came to their wedding or something."

"They did. A long time ago." Isis was still looking dreamily out of the window. "My mother told me all about it. My mother was in the DA and everything."

"The what?" Harry very rarely spoke to his children about his past, but then again he didn't really need to, there were enough books about it. Albus read a lot of books, but he made sure to avoid those detailing his own family life.

Isis' eyes suddenly sparkled. "You mean you don't know?" She clapped her hands gleefully. "Oh it was brilliant. Mother said it was the most fun she had ever had. They were all such great friends."

Albus let her talk for a while before attempting to join the conversation; soon they were exchanging family stories. And after that, they talked in depth about books. Isis told Albus about some weird creature that invaded your brain every year on the first day of May – he did not believe her, but he didn't let her know that.

She was funny. He liked her.

By the time the Hogwarts Express came to a halt outside Hogwarts, Albus was confident that he had found his first friend


	2. Chapter 1

Closer

Chapter One

Albus stood with what seemed to be the vast crowd of other first years in the large Entrance Hall, trying to keep calm by keeping his mind off the impending sorting ceremony. Of course, James had told him about it over the summer, but he didn't really believe what his brother told him – and after all, the story changed every time it was told; one moment you had to wrestle some sort of viscous beast, the next you had to perform some impossible display of magical skill in front of a panel of judges.

James was lying. Of course he was.

Wasn't he?

The boy swallowed, and looked around for reassurance. Thankfully, the first thing he focused on was Isis' large, soothing eyes. "Are you alright Albus? You look like a startled rabbit" An odd turn of phrase. She seemed the perfect picture of calm; whereas everyone else around seemed unable to stay still, fidgiting and jigging about with nerves – the blonde boy standing opposite Albus looked almost close to tears.

Albus attempted to say that he was fine, but this confused string of gibberish made it's way out instead. Isis laughed; it was a loud and brief chattering and it reminded Albus of a stream bubbling over a rocky riverbed.

"There's nothing to worry about. All you have to do is put on a hat. Mother told me."

"Really?"

She nodded, wild curls bouncing. "I hope I'm in Ravenclaw. Mother was in Ravenclaw." She seemed to be saying the latter fact to herself. "And her father before her. And his father before him. And his father before him. And his _mother_ before him. And his..."

Her mantra chant was cut off when the double doors of the Great Hall where pushed open, and Albus was relieved to see the familiar face of Neville Longbottom - Professor Longbottom now - smiling down at them all. He was a tall man, rather thick set with broad shoulders and a wide neck; his face was covered with shaggy and wiry whiskers. "First years, this way please." He beckoned them in.

Obediently, the frightened gaggle of first years filed in after him.

Albus, despite all he had read and everything his brother had told him, could not stop an overwhelming sense of awe coming over him as he entered the packed Great Hall. The large tables lined with students from the four houses didn't really register in his mind; his inquisitive eyes were drawn straight to the ceiling, and there they stayed. It was fantastic.

It wasn't like simply lying in the grass and staring at the sky at home, when you could catch a glimpse of a few stars if there weren't any clouds – constellations, in all their glory, sprawled out before Albus, stars of different colours sparkled and dusty galaxies lay before his eyes. In an instant he felt like the most insignificant human being on the planet, dwarfed by the heavens and all their majesty. Yet, at the same time, he felt a part of something unfathomable and eternal. The two conflicting emotions created a strange sense of joy in his heart.

"It's fantastic." He whispered, not wanting to upset the now heavy silence of the hall.

"It's beautiful. I can see forever." Isis whispered back; she too was staring up at the myriad of stars above them.

Then, slowly, he was able to take in the rest of the Hall: it was lit by the warm glow of a thousand floating candles, giving everything in the hall a comforting softness and giving the it a cosy feeling despite the cold stone floor and catacomb-like high walls; the candles floated over the four vast tables. Albus caught sight of James, who sat between his friends of the Gryffindor table. He smiled, and Albus tried to smile back, but only managed a twisted grimace.

There were a lot of students. His heart rate began to increase. Albus had never exactly been a people person. He had very few friends and was always known as the 'quiet one' of the group. The thought of standing up in front of the whole school made his stomach turn. For one terrible moment, he thought he was going to vomit on the boy standing directly in front of him.

Luckily for the anonymous boy, Albus was forced to turn his all his concentration on the front of the hall, where Professor Longbottom had set down a four-legged stool and had placed a well-worn,patched and dirty, pointed wizard hat.

Then, to Albus' utter surprise, the hat's folds transformed into a rudimentary mouth and the thing began to _sing_.

He looked wildly about the hall, brow furrowed, yet none of the older students treated this as an abnormality – although a few of his fellow first years were exchanging bemused looks. He heard Isis, who stood to the side of him, try to conceal a giggle. He looked over, their eyes met; and then they were both spluttering with confused laughter.

When the hat finished its song, the whole hall burst into applause.

Then Professor Longbottom stepped forward. "You will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted." He said, and then read the first name off the list.

The dark haired boy who Albus had nearly spewed on stumbled out of the line, nearly tripping over his feet as he went forward. He sat down and placed the hat on his head – it fell right down over his eyes. There was a moment of heavy silence, then the hat cried: "Hufflepuff!"

They all cheered as the boy scrambled over to sit at the Hufflepuff table. Then another student was called up, and another and another.

Albus couldn't stop the little voice in head whispering: _"You're going to be put in Slytherin, you know."_ The voice had a cutting, taunting edge to it and sounded remarkably like James. It kept repeating the same thing over and over again. Albus broke out in a cold sweat which greased his upper lip and palms. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

No.

No he wouldn't be Slytherin. He could _choose _not to be. Like his father had before him.

"Isis Lovegood."

Isis gave Albus one last, quick and uneven smile before she went up. She sat and placed the hat on her head – it didn't quite cover her eyes because of her glasses, which were pushed down to the end of her petite nose. The hall sank again into silence – a longer silence this time, for the hat took a long time to place her.

Albus watched with eager apprehension, his eyes fixed on her pale, blank face. A few seconds dragged by like a life-time.

"Ravenclaw!"

Isis' face broke into a thousand-watt smile as she went to join the cheering Ravenclaw table. Albus felt his stomach sink – he'd hoped his friend would've been put into Gryffindor, like Albus hoped he would be placed. Being in Gryffindor was like a family tradition. His father and mother had been Gryffindors, so had all his uncles and his Aunt Hermione; now his brother was there, his cousin Victorie Weasley and he had a feeling his cousin Rose would be placed there too.

Finally, his own name was called. Albus made his way to the front of the hall, his head light and his legs feeling heavy yet ominously wobbly . He sat on the stool, feeling every eye burning into him, and slipped on the battered old hat. It slipped down over part of his face. All became dark and his nostrils were invaded by the smell of old leather.

He began to sweat profusely.

There was a second of silence. Albus gripped the stool so hard his knuckles turned white – this time he knew he was going to throw up for sure. Was he really hearing barely audible whisper in his ear, or had the pure stress of the moment caused him to actually lose his mind?

It seemed to take forever, but the hat finally came to it's conclusion.

"Ravenclaw!"

Albus' heart jumped. He hadn't expected that.

He slipped off the had and stumbled half-blinded by the light to the wildly cheering table - their cries has a surreal air to them, they didn't sound real to him, like the sound was reverberating from some far-away place. He sat near Isis, who leaned over and gave him a genuine smile. She waggled her fingers in a little wave, he waved back numbly, still disorientated by the whole thing.

After a few minutes, when the world had stopped swimming before his eyes, he looked up and caught James' gaze– his brother was giving him a bemused half-smile-half-frown.

Finally, Rose was called up – she had the bad luck to be one of the last summoned.. She practically ran up and rammed the sorting hat onto her head. She was placed in Gryffindor after only a second. You could tell by her bright expression that she was pleased about that, and she beamed her way to join her new House's table.

After the last few first years were sorted into their respective houses, the annual feast began. The food actually sprang from the silver plates – and what food it was. Never had Albus seen so much in his life; at family reunions there was always a lot as he had a huge family of cousins and uncles, but this was insane.

His surprise did nothing to diminish his viscous appetite – now that he had stopped feeling sick, he had realized that he hadn't eaten all day - and he ate like it was his last meal; by the time he was finished, he was ready to bust a gut.


	3. Chapter 2

Closer

Chapter Two

After the feast was finished, Albus and his fellow Ravenclaw first years were led up to the west tower by a very tall, pale Prefect who looked as if he hadn't left the library once in his time at Hogwarts. He repeatedly called out impatiently for them to keep up, despite the fact the first years were practically sprinting to keep up with him.

Albus had lost Isis after they had left the hall, and was raking the group with his eyes when he was tapped softly on his shoulder. He turned to see a sandy-blonde boy grinning at him – his teeth were even and perfectly white. He didn't quite looked real, he reminded Albus eerily of the mannequins you always see posing in Muggle shops.

"Hello, nice you meet you. I'm Caleb. You may have heard of me." There was a self-assured tone to his smooth voice.

"Ummm, hi. And no, I haven't."

"Oh yes, well, I'm Caleb Lockhart. Son of the legend himself." He laughed, a bright, tinkling laugh. There was something decidedly rehearsed about everything this boy did – Albus could imagine him practising his lines and laugh in front of the mirror every night, flashing himself a million different smiles until he found the perfect one. "Who, pray tell, are you, my fine fellow?"

"Albus Potter."

Caleb's baby-blue eyes lit up suddenly. "Oh, really? How marvellous! We should be friends." It was not an offer, it was spoken as a demand

Albus made some non-committal noise and lowered his eyes. Truth be told, he had taken a natural aversion to the boy. He had got into his head the idea that Caleb rehearsed everything he said and did and, for some reason he could not explain, that made Albus feel a little sad, but he couldn't say why.

Luckily, they had reached the dormitory, so Albus managed to avoid the question. The common room was perfectly round with the floors and the walls being of uncovered grey stone. The ceiling was concave and domed, painted a deep navy blue; it was decorated intricately with tiny golden stars which seemed to twinkle of their own accord. A great fire roared in the fireplace and fat armchairs were dotted about. They looked like if you sat in them, they would try and swallow you.

There were two stair-cases spiralling up into the two respective dormitories, and between the stone archways there stood a tall statue. Rowena Ravenclaw's stone effigy stood proud and wise overlooking them all. Albus was overwhelmed suddenly by a sense of belonging.

...

Albus didn't actually remember falling asleep that night; it seemed to him that his head had just hit the pillow, yet, somehow, the warm orange September-morning sunlight was cascading through the narrow tower windows. He lay there for a few minutes, momentarily bewildered by the the strange four poster bed he found himself in. This wasn't his room – he didn't have blue velvet curtains, nor did he own a large bed, or have a circular room in his house for that matter.

Then it dawned on him.

He sat bolt upright in bed – most of his dorm-mates had already left for breakfast, but two remained: one was dark-haired, short and chubby; the other was lanky, with ash blonde hair and bright forget-me-not blue eyes, whom Albus recognised from his awkward encounter last night. The first was Goldstein – his tall friend was Lockhart. They had been involved in animated conversation, but stopped when Albus sat up. Goldstein fixed him with a blank look, like he'd just popped up from the ground – Lockhart gave him a lazy smirk.

"Hello there Albus." He greeted in his smooth and vaguely pompous voice.

"Umm, hi." Albus ran a hand through his wild, bed-ruffled black hair. His eyes were still bleary with sleep.

Lockhart checked his watch. "You overslept a bit, there Potter. Better hurry up or you'll be late." The boy smoothed his robes out carefully – he obviously obsessed with his looks. Not a minute went by without him running a hand over his perfectly coiffed hair. Albus imagined that he also checked himself in the mirror a million times a night.

"There's a point, Caleb – we haven't eaten yet." Goldstein moved his gaze from Albus and looked worriedly at Lockhart. He placed a chubby hand on his round stomach. "I'm hungry now."

The boys made to leave. "You're _always_ hungry." Retorted Lockhart in his self-satisfied way.

Goldstein gave him a mildly offended look. "Yeah? Well,and least I don't forget nearly every damn thing I'm told." There was a childish bitterness in his high voice.

"Yeah, well, that's not my fault. I told you yesterday..." Their voices were gradually lost.

Albus sat dumbly in his bed for a moment, trying to pull himself out of his sleepy stupor, before checking his own watch. He stomach lurched coldly and he jumped out from under the covers, suddenly in a frenzy. He really was going to be late.

He quickly pulled on his uniform, not bothering to fold down the collar of his shirt, and hurriedly slipped on his robes. He grabbed his books without even bothering to check if they were the right ones, so great was his panic. Albus was actually renowned for being prepared, but he was also known to panic and obsess over punctuality. If there was one thing that Albus Potter hated, it had to be being late.

He practically ran down into the common-room.

Though he didn't realize it, Albus had never looked more like his father in his whole life. The only thing that was missing were glasses and a scar; apart from that, the likeness was beyond uncanny.

The Ravenclaw common room was deserted, apart from a few stragglers – all older students, looking for any excuse not to go to their lessons. Isis was reclining in an large, navy blue armchair, her feet dangling a few inches off of the stone floor; a pile of books rested neatly on her lap, her cream-colured hands were clasped on top of them. She had a delightfully dreamy smile on her face.

"Good morning, Albus." She said, her light voice as calm as ever. "I thought you'd never come."

Isis stood, putting her books under her her right arm. With her spare hand, she reached into her robe-pockets and drew out a red apple – it was perhaps the most shiny piece of fruit that he had ever seen. Isis rubbed it quickly on her sweater-vest and handed it to him.

"I got this in case you missed breakfast. Thinking on an empty stomach gives you fever."

Albus took it gratefully. "Thank you." He mumbled, again cursing his awkwardness.

They left, walking side-by-side. Albus nervously checked his watch and nearly choked on his apple."We're going to be late!" He exclaimed, pickle-green eyes wide. He began to run, and Isis easily matched his step – she was a surprisingly fast runner; you wouldn't of thought it, her skinny legs looked as if they had no muscle on them.

"I don't want to get a detention on my first day."

She did not answer – she was running with her eyes closed, humming to herself.

...

Rolf Scamander was watching his wife intently; her back was to him as she cooked over their small stove – every now and then, little bits of food would fly out of the pan, curtsey of her eccentric cookery style. He smirked to himself. Luna hummed loudly to herself; every now and then, the odd word from the song she was recreating slipped out, only to slip back to humming. Lorcan and Lysander, sitting in their respective high-chairs, took turns giggling at each other, their chubby little faces stretched into identical tooth-less smiles.

His family was certainly crazy.

And it was his family was complete now. He knew it was wrong, but he didn't count Isis as family – and that was fair enough in his mind. The girl had expressed herself that she never wanted to be a Scamander. She had refused to take the name, even after her beautiful mother had married him. But that was her choice. He certainly wasn't going to force her into it. Why should he bother? She was not his daughter – he had no interest in another man's offspring.

Luna, with a bright smile, passed her husband his breakfast – as always, it was going to prove itself a test of what was edible, and what wasn't. The bacon was almost raw, the egg nearly shrunk to nothing and the toast was black with charcoal. "Thanks, honey."

Luna smiled at him.

Rolf sighed, stabbing at the raw meat. Not once in their five years of marriage had she been able to make him a simple damn breakfast. That sort of thing could drive a guy crazy. It really could.

Oh, he did love her. He loved her nearly as much as his sons – but she was loony. He called her that sometimes. Loony Lovegood. Like he heard they had when she was at school. She didn't like that,at least, he didn't think she did. She didn't really react to what he said most of the time. Always of in her own world. Loony Lovegood.

Beside him, Lorcan started spreading yoghurt over his high-chair tray. He giggled as he worked. From across the table, Lysander joined his deep baby chortles.

"Honey, can you sort him out please?"

Luna hadn't heard him. She was clattering around with the utensils, cleaning and making him coffee at the same time. "I wonder if Isis is alright." She said – over the years, her voice had lost a little of it's dreamy quality, but she still spoke with a decided softness.

Rolf rolled his eyes. Not this again. Every five minutes she was going on about Isis. Why couldn't she let it drop already? The girl was gone from the family unit, and therefore she should be gone from his mind. He didn't want to hear her talked of a million times a day. She wasn't even his child.

"_Honey_, can to sort Lorcan out?" He repeated, his mouth full of undercooked bacon. Grease dribbled from his mouth.

"I wonder what she's doing now." Luna paused in her work, and looked dreamily out of the window. "I'm sure she'll love it. I loved it, even if people always stole my shoes."

"Lorcan is making a mess." Rolf was beginning to loose his temper. He was grasping his cutlery so tight that his knuckles hurt a bit. She wasn't listening. She _never_ listened. Always daydreaming and not talking to him. She never talked to him anymore. As the man of the house, he was in his right mind to teach her some manners.

Still the twins laughed.

"I hope she makes friends alright."

"Sort Lorcan out. He's making a mess."

She placed his fresh cup of coffee down in front of him. "She was so looking forward to meeting new people. I think Isis has always secretly been a people person." Rolf's nerve snapped. He grabbed at the cup of coffee and threw it back at her. Luna shrieked as the scolding liquid seeped through her thin dress.

Lorcan and Lysander cried.

Rolf got to his. "You might want to clean up Lorcan." He said softly. He stooped down and kissed her on the cheek – she went rigid as he touched her. "See you later honey." Her eyes flamed with rage.

He out of the door, quickly Apperating to work; and leaving behind two hysterical Scammanders.

…

Luna took three deep breaths, rubbing the tears of surprise from her large, beautiful eyes. Lorcan and Lysander wailed on in unison. She pulled her herself upright and grabbed her wand off the kitchen table, with a quick wave, the blistering burns on her chest shrank away leaving her smooth pale skin in it's former glory.

Her first priority out of the way, she swooped up her crying twins, balancing one boy on each of her hips; she bounced them, murmuring a lullaby under her breath. She kissed them on their semi-bald heads, interspersing her singing with soft 'there there's'. They soon stopped screeching to listen to her low, soothing voice; occasionally one hiccuped or sniffled.

That had been the first time Rolf had hit out at her.

He often shouted at her, but Luna always drowned him out – he was always moaning on about some irrelevance or other. She thought it was for the best, she had found it increasingly harder to stand the man, he seemed to be getting more delusional by the day.

Real love had disappeared long ago in their marriage, leaving Luna wondering what the hell she had ever seen in him in the first place. Having Lorcan and Lysander was not planned, but she used in in one last well-meaning attempt at relighting the relationship she and Rolf had once shared; but, alas, it didn't work. She couldn't continue to love a man who couldn't, no _wouldn't_, love and accept her daughter.

Isis was her first baby, her precious little girl, and she was incredibly foolish to overlook her for Rolf. Her one moment of weakness, it had to be admitted.

Yet even from the start, their had been a certain something, that special understanding a strong relationship needs, had been somewhat lacking. The main reason they had got married in the first place was because it was expected; it was only expected because they had been together for years, and that only happened because Luna had expected them to end at any second. When she looked at Rolf, she didn't know what he was thinking, he was reserved from her, kept his hopes and dreams close to his chest. With Isis' father, it had been different.

Maybe that was half of the problem? She still loved him. She always had. But, he wasn't coming back, she knew that. She may have been a bit crazy, but she was not a stupid person; he had made it very clear where his loyalties lay, even though it broke both of their hearts. But despite that, she couldn't help but hope that he'd turn up on the doorstep one day and hold her, kiss every square inch of her like the old times. Dreaming was a luxury that was free, and Luna felt no shame in indulging in it. What had she to lose? Her husband? Hardly anything of value.

Rolf was a bad husband, and an absent father. He wouldn't be coming back. Today had been one step too far.

When he walked out of the door this morning, he was leaving for good. She was going to pack his stuff, and leave it by the gate for him – she was _not_ going to tolerate this. She had fought for freedom against the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters; she wasn't going to sign her life and dignity away to man and take all of his shit just because he called himself her husband.

He wasn't going to be her husband for mcuh longer. She was going to liberate herself and her sons; she was going to bring justice to Isis, her beautiful daughter. Isis, who was the light of her life, the child of her one love.

She often wondered how he was.

After Rolf was gone to work, and her sons were playing or asleep, Luna Scamander would sit and think of him for hours at a time. Mainly the memories they had, the blissful summer evenings they had spent in each others arms, his gentle voice whispering in her ear, the way he talked, the way he spoke. She could still remember every line and groove on his chiselled face. The courageous, brave man, whom she'd loved from first sight and who'd loved her as no man had before, and as no man had managed after.

Her boys suitably calmed, she brought them into the playroom – it was a spongy room, not unlike a padded cell; it was decorated with painted multi-colour hand-prints all over the springy cream-coloured walls and filled with an assortment of baby toys, some of which had belonged to Luna when she had been an infant herself. She placed the boys down. Lorcan toddled off to play, Lysander stayed put, clutching at his mother's dress with a chubby little fist.

Luna smiled down at him and smoothed his wild blonde curls. All of her children had inherited her small features and pale flaxen hair; but the twins had the dark eyes of their father, though they had a more dreamy touch to them. She knelt in front of him. "What's up Lysander?" She asked. The little boy shook his head in the frantic and exaggerated way children often expressed themselves.

"Are you going to go and play with your brother?" She suggested. The boy nodded. He paused, gave her big hug, and then toddled off to rugby tackle his unsuspecting twin

Luna straightened up and watched the boys giggle wistfully for a moment; smiling proudly.

After a while their mother sighed, before turning and going into her own room. She got the old, heavy leather suitcase out from the bottom of the wardrobe.

She inattentively wondered if her boys would miss their father. He wasn't around often. He barely interacted with them. Most of the time he was locked up in the attic, finishing up anything left over from the working day. Did Lorcan and Lysander even realize that the strange man that occasionally appeared at the breakfast table was their father?

She hoped not – that way they wouldn't miss him.

Sighing again, Luna pulled open Rolf's draws and began throwing the clothing carelessly into the suitcase. He could sort it out himself, it wasn't her job; he wasn't her husband any more.

She was almost a free woman again. It seemed to Luna that she's spent most of her time as a 'free woman'. She had missed the liberation of being alone, and she couldn't wait to be rid of Rolf. But she knew eventually she would start thinking of him and the empty feeling would return. And she would be sad when she thought of him, but she would distract herself and try and think of other things.

She supposed that was the way it was going to have to be.

He wasn't coming back, even if he had loved her, and Luna was adamant he had; as she had loved him. Despite everything, she knew that much.

Yet, things had changed. His responsibilities had doubled and, as he had a loyal heart, he made the painful choice to return to the life he had led before; unbeknownst to him, he was leaving a child fatherless by leaving Luna.

Isis did not look much like him, and Luna classed that as a blessing – it would have been to painful. But sometimes she would say something a certain way or a look would pass over her face and Luna would be struck dumb by the likeness.

Luna, as she packed Rolf Scamander's things, found her thoughts returning to him.

She hoped with all her heart that he was happy with the life he had chosen. For she would not have found it within her true self to wish him ill for all the world. It was true that she still loved him. She _always_ would, because she knew he must still loved her too.


	4. Chapter 3

Closer

Chapter Three

The sun was beginning it's slow ascent when Rolf returned home from work at five – the sky was a clear watery blue and cloudless; the light was fading slightly, it wasn't quite twilight yet, and the world seemed oddly blurred and surreal. Propped outside of the twisted, peeling gate, he found one suitcase bursting with his clothing. Anything that didn't fit, was strewn haphazardly about, a few books were neatly stacked on top of the suitcase, but Luna seemed to have lost patience with that, and the rest had just been thrown on the ground. Several of Rolf's manuscripts lay trampled into the dusty dirt of the lane. Lying on the wall was a slender golden wedding band on top of a brief note scribbled in Luna's messy and uneven script:

_Rolf, I do not believe our relationship is not working. Therefore, I took the liberty of packing your things for you, as you are no longer welcome in this household. I will not be made a mockery of by the likes of you. Goodbye forever. Your truly and never to see you ever again in my life, _

_Luna_

Rolf round face turned crimson in rage – jaw was clenched tightly, making his teeth ache, and his hands shook. He had never been so angry in his entire life. How dare she throw him out of his own house. How dare she keep his boys from him. How dare _she _discard him like that. If this thing was going to end, it would end on his terms.

Rolf hammered on the front door of the crooked house, his face growing redder and redder until it began to resemble a beetroot. He screamed bloody murder, and kicked the plants growing near the garden path. He knew these plants were his ex-wife's favourite – they were her own experimental concoction. This was more out of childish spite, and he got a malicious kick out of ruining them. _That'll teach her_.

But, of course, Rolf's thunderous rage was cut short when Luna hexed him out of a second story window, turning his kneecaps the wrong way around. Wailing in pain and humiliation, Rolf dragged himself down the garden and out of the gates. He sobbed as he collected up his things and Apperated away to his mother's house.

Luna was finally able to breathe easily – he would most probably be back, and cause yet another scene, but after a few more knee-twists, he'd learn. For now she would cherish this time of peace and reflection. The twins were napping, the house was still and her imagination had free reign over her.

She wondered what he was doing right now.

She let a dreamy sigh slip from between her slightly parted lips; the sigh spoke of the loneliness she suddenly found herself experiencing. It wasn't because she missed her husband, no not at all; in fact, as soon as he left, she's bestowed no more thoughts upon his unworthy being. No, she missed Isis' father.

Of course, she'd missed him everyday since he left. Every single minute of every single day. But, somehow, she felt the same level of loss on the day he had walked out of that door. It had been for the best, that's what he'd said. He said that he had loved her more than anything. He had said that when things had settled back to normal at home he'd be back.

She hadn't seen him again. Never heard a word; not even a whisper of a word. Nothing for eleven long years.

Luna hoped he was in good health. He hoped his other children were strong. She hoped his wife was content with her fantastic lot in life. And, more than anything else, she hoped he was happy.

It's what they'd always wanted to be – happy. They'd dreamed of a happy life together on those long summer nights they'd shared. They had planned out where they'd buy a house, how they'd live a little outside a muggle village, so they could have privacy and do all the magic they wanted. They where going to grow their own vegetables in the garden, and she's have her own patch for her hybrid flowers. They'd even decided on the type of the carpet. Luna had based her life around this fantasy; but,for him, it was little more than a playful daydream.

Yet, she would not let herself get bitter over the fact that such a dream had been abandoned. No, she had learned to live each day as it came. She was content enough.

All she wanted was for him to be happy enough for the both of them...

...

Harry Potter was _not_ happy.

She was of on one again. It was frightening to think about how similar Ginny and her mother had become over the past eighteen years. They even looked the same nowadays – although, to be honest, his wife was a more slender version; but he had to admit it, she was only a fraction slighter than Molly Weasley had been.

She was always moaning nowadays. Moaning about her office job, moaning about the hours she worked, moaning about how she never had time to clean, moaning about the state of the kitchen, nagging Harry to clean the garage, which he had actually done a week before and she just hadn't noticed yet. And the list went on and on.

He was currently zoning her out, she was going on again about some irrelevance or other. Knowing his wife as he did, she was most likely complaining about money, a constant topic of her moaning. They both held down two steady jobs, and with their combined income they led a comfortable life; they were not wanting. But Ginny was moaning that Harry did not earn enough. She wanted to be able to leave work while maintaining her comfortable lifestyle.

Of course, she could stay at home all day and clean if she wanted to; it would just mean that she couldn't buy several new robes a month. That was unacceptable.

"Harry? Did you even hear a word I just said?" Her voice was sharp and had an exasperated edge to it. Harry's grip on his spoon tightened slightly.

_'No. No I wasn't. What're you going to do about it?' _He thought. His internal voice was childish and taunting. It reminded him of Dudley, his cousin, back when he lived in the cupboard under the stairs. That was so long ago. Had it really been twenty-five years?

"What was that honey?"

Ginny went an awful shade of scarlet. "I knew it! I knew it! You never listen, Harry James Potter. Never!" She pressed her clenched fists into her slightly rotund hips. "Well, for you benefit, I was talking about Albus, you remember your son, don't you? The poor baby is so far away, and I think it's about time to write. Then I asked you what you thought only to find that you hadn't the courtesy to listen."

"Oh, well, that's a great idea, dear." Harry forced his voice to be calm and controlled, whereas inside, he was seething. He had suggested the very same thing last night, but _she_ had said that it was a bit to early and that they didn't want to embarrass him with and instant letter from home. She had said she didn't want to be seen as overbearing.

She smiled with satisfaction, and the violent colour faded slightly from her freckled cheeks. "Good good."

Lily, who had been watching silently through this conference, finally spoke up. "Can I write to him too Mummy?" The little girl looked alarmingly like her mother – she and James had inherited both the Weasley's red hair, freckles and their handsome dark eyes.

"That's a wonderful idea, Lily. I'm sure he'd be very pleased to hear from you." She smoothed her daughter's hair out – unfortunately for Lily, her hair had the same messy tendency as Harry's. "But you never wrote to James when he went away – why was that my pet?"

Lily chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. "James is mean to me sometimes. But Albus is always lovely."

Harry chuckled lightly to himself. That was certainly a very accurate picture of her brothers. He couldn't argue with that logic – if you're awful, you get ignored all year; if you're nice, she might just send you a letter.

Ginny checked her wrist-watch and gave a little shriek. "Quick quick, Lily, we're going to be late." She hurried her daughter out of the room, not even allowing her to bid her father goodbye. A few seconds later, he heard the front door bang to. That was another little thing he'd noticed about Ginny: she was always slamming doors. She was an incredibly loud person.

Peace descended on the house – a luxury that Harry wasn't very used to. He could actually hear himself think! It was almost a blessing.

He wondered how she was...

She'd gotten married a few years before; even though he knew it was wrong to continue to feel for her - especially after what he did to her - but he did and it damn near broke his heart. She even had children with her new husband now. But there was another; a daughter, several years older than her brothers. Why, she might have even started Hogwarts this year, he wasn't sure. He knew nothing about her, and that was probably for the best. He'd made his decision years ago, and he didn't plan to break the promises he had made to himself. It had, after all, been for the best. Or so he had thought at the time.

He wasn't so sure now.

He often wondered about that little girl, though. Sometimes he'd work himself up, he'd put on his coat and go out the door to find the truth, but he'd always catch himself. He'd pause by the garden gate. Then he thought about how awkward it would be. They hadn't spoken in all these years – he'd said they'd stay in contact, but he'd lost the nerve. She probably hated him now. If he went to her house, she'd probably lean out of the window and hex his knees off. Then he'd sigh, and walk down to the local pub and pretend that was where he had wanted to go in the first place. And he'd sit and nurse a pint for a few hours and think.

Part of him feared the power this girl could exercise over him – she could potentially ruin his good reputation forever. Harry was a prominent figure in the Wizarding World, he was well respected, even now he had little more than a desk job. If this girl was who he sometimes thought she was, she could ruin him. But he could not help his curiosity.

He wanted to meet her, to see if she was like anything like her mother, to see if she was anything like him.

Harry Potter sighed heavily. He drained the the dregs of his cold cup of tea, and returned to the monotony of a nine-to-five life.


	5. Chapter 4

Closer

Chapter Four

Albus reclined on the soft, navy blue sofa, heaving a soft sigh of relief. It was finally Friday and the end of his first week of attendance at Hogwarts school – a very successful week if he did say so himself. He was both exhilarated and worn out; when Albus wanted to work, he''d apply himself fully – this week, he could safely say that he'd given a hundred and ten percent in every lesson. It was, after all, the best way to win over the Professors and get on their good side. James called it sucking up, but Albus would tell you that it was just being a good student. Albus felt getting all of his teachers to like him was a good move in terms of his future prospects, he was, after all, the quiet book-ish boy, and thus an easy target. He had been bullied mercilessly while attending the muggle primary school in the village. Though James had started the craze of picking on the quiet boy..

"Tired Potter?"

Caleb Lockhart perched himself neatly on the other side of the blue velvet sofa, placing his hands neatly on his knees. He had an unnatural way of sitting; that too seemed to be rehearsed. Albus just found Lockhart to be a bit creepy, he did not seem like a real person.

"Just a bit." Albus rubbed his eyes wearily and barely stifled a yawn. He didn't really want to talk to Lockhart, the boy didn't exactly supply the most intelligent conversation. He was always going on about his father to anyone who would listen. Not only that but Caleb simply wouldn't leave Albus alone, he was following him everywhere, always trying to draw him into pointless conversation. And he was always trying to convince their ignorant peers that they were the best of friends – in Lockhart's eyes they _had_ to be; after all, both of their fathers were famous. Or had been, in the past.

It was only right that they should become thick as thieves. Almost like their destiny – that, and Caleb didn't think many of the other students were worthy of his charming attention and good-looks. After all, their parents hadn't been in the public eye.

"Yes, I quite agree, it was a bloody hard week. Bloody hard. But you certainly put on a good show, Potter. Swatting away – don't think I can't see what you're up to." Lockhart elbowed him 'playfully' in the ribs.

His elbows felt rather sharp as they dug into his body.

"Uhh, yeah. Sure."

"It's a bloody good idea, mind you Potter, to get all the teachers to think your clever now – they'll love you. Bloody good plan. Bloody good." He slapped Albus on the back. It winded him slightly.

"I don't think it was an act, Caleb. Albus may be intelligent by nature." A dreamy voice drifted from behind a book. Isis had been sat opposite them in a customary blue armchair, her knees drawn up to her chest, reading some old, battered book. Her large, calm eyes were fixed steadily on Lockhart from above the leaves.

Lockhart, who hadn't noticed her before, gave a little start.

"Oh, well, yes, I never said he wasn't. I just said he had a bloody good idea, that's all." He spoke a little irritably. But, on observing her a little closer, a crooked smile broke across his face by way of recognition. "Hey, I know you! You're the daughter of that woman that found the Crumpled Horn Snorkaks! The editor of the Quibbla, or whatever it's called!"

She gave a short nod. He floundered about melodramatically for a few moments, trying to remember her name. "Yes... well, of course you're called … ummm … yes uhhh …. welll you're..."

"Isis Lovegood." She finished curtly.

"Isis Lovegood!" He snapped his fingures. "Yes! That's the one!" Caleb Lockhart had an extremely loud voice, which was entirely intentional. Several people were turning to stare at them from across the Common Room. "You're mother is crazy. But famous, I dare say."

Isis, made a non-committal noise and tried to return to her book. Lockhart was having none of that.

"Brilliant, brilliant." He drew himself up and went to perch himself on the arm of her chair. "You know, my father was an author. Incredibly famous at one point, but alas, fame is a fickle friend, as he taught me – not one person I've spoken to seems to remember Gilderoy Lockhart, despite all his great work." He heaved a heavy sigh. "It's a vicious industry, we're born from, isn't it?"

"My mother doesn't go looking for fame, and I dare say Albus' father doesn't care much for it." Isis spoke flatly, pointedly turning the page of her book and bending her head towards it.

"Of course, of course." Caleb waved his arm vaguely. "My father never went looking for fame. Fame always came knocking at his door, forcing it's way in like a salesman of doom. It made his life a living hell. A living hell." Caleb paused thoughtfully. "At least, I think that's what he said. I can't really remember."

Isis sighed, and closed her book sharply. "Really? Well, from what I've heard your father was an egotistical moron who turned out to be little more that an arrogant fraud. All I can say is that I hope you turn out to be half the wizard he was, that way your magic might just reach past mediocrity"

Albus had never heard Isis speak like that to anyone – she was normally so softly spoken, so dreamy, so calm. Now she was being, well... fiery.

She got to her feet. "Good night, Albus." She said, distant once again, as she floated out up into the Girl's Dormitory.

The two boys sat in a heavy silence for a moment – Lockhart looking both stricken and amazed, Albus trying desperately to stifle his laughter.

"How...how dare she?" Caleb spoke it more as a question than as a demand. He slipped slowly into the now vacant chair. "How dare she indeed. My father was a great man, I'm sure. Mother told me so, and mother is always right – she can remember, see, she can remember how things were before his accident." He heaved a great sigh; he didn't really seem to need Albus' input – he seemed perfectly happy in talking _at_ someone, rather than to someone.

Albus watched him silently, green eyes glazed slightly. He was not really listening. He was not required to, he had learned that much in already.

"Still, she's an extraordinary girl, isn't she Potter?"

He supposed she was, but he was not one to make fast judgements. He had had friends in the past who had turned on him; but Albus had a good feeling about Isis. She was a nice girl. She was crazy, and didn't seem all there sometimes, but she was friendly. And that's all that Albus needed: someone friendly who could start the conversation for him. He had always struggled with that. Conversation was not his strong point, he felt he was far too boring for that.

Lockhart shrugged, having got no answer to his question, and he heaved himself to his feet, running one last hand through his wavy blonde hair. "Well, I'm going to bed, old bean. Catch you later."

"Yeah, sure." _Whatever_.

...

"Harry? Are you doing it?" Ginny's fog-horn voice boomed from downstairs.

_Yes. For the last time, yes I'm doing it. Why won't you leave me alone you Hag?_

"Yes, honey I'm just doing it."

Harry Potter sat motionless at his lamp-lit desk. The oppressive black of the winter night pressed up against the farmhouse window. A few lights twinkled further off; the village only had a few occupants who said up past nine, the rest where all old dears who went to bed as soon as the evening church service was done. The window was wide open, and Harry was drinking in the cool silence of the night. There was a piece of parchment set before him and his quill sat heavy with ink in his hand, ready to write. He had been like that for fifteen minutes, caught in his own thoughts. His thoughts had began to consume him of late, and they were always about the same thing.

His mind seemed to be overridden with this one thought. It played over and over again. He was in a perpetual state of anguish, not knowing what to believe, not knowing what to feel.

How old would she be now? What did she look like? What was her name? Did she look like her mother, or was she like her father? Who was her father? Did she know? Did she know that she was taking over, giving him sleepless nights? He was so worried.

Harry sighed. That was a list of questions that would never be answered. Not because they couldn't be, but because they shouldn't be. He'd made his choice a long time ago, and he would stick to it, no matter what. He owed his children that.

"Harry!"

"Yes, I'm doing it! I'm doing it!"

_'Dear Albus...'_


	6. Chapter 5

Closer

Chapter Five

It was an eye-wateringly bright, fresh winter morning, and the Potter residence were seated around the silent breakfast table. Lily, her messy ginger hair even crazier thanks to a severe case of bed-head, was sat with her nose stuck in '_Hogwarts, A History'_. She had been completely obsessed with that book all summer, reading it through a total of four times, quite a feat for seeing that Harry had given up half-way through when he was younger. Today, however, she was simply skimming to her favourite sections. Harry was pretty sure is daughter knew more about the old castle than either he or his wife could remember.

Speaking of his wife...

Ginny was standing, bleary-eyed and pale, frying up breakfast. She had slipped into the early-morning silence only a tired woman can understand. Harry had attempted light conversation earlier, only to be roared back into his place – she was a vicious, vicious woman sometime; only a fragment of the fiery and beautiful woman he married remained, but she was still in there somewhere. Every now and again, she said a little something or held him in a way that reminded him why he had loved her over all those years, reminded him of the spirited, red-haired girl he has fallen in love with. She was in there somewhere, deep down in Mrs Potter, Ginny Weasley still lived a breathed.

But, sometimes, he did question his choice in a wife, whether he had made the right decision in taking on her. She was getting way to similar to her mother for his liking – he had adored Mrs Weasley as a mother-figure, she had made him feel at home when he never really had one. But he remembered only too well the worn-out face of Mr Weasley, beaten into submission and agreement by her constant berating.

A sharp tapping at the window made Harry start. "Ah, that'll be the post."

"Get it then." Ginny mumbled to the frying bacon.

"What was that honey?"

Ginny gave him a glare that seemed to scream 'don't you question me' – if looks could of killed, he would have been a twisted, bloody pulp on the linoleum floorboards.

He moved to the window and unlatched it where a tiny white owl stood waiting – the fresh morning air was cool on his face. Harry took a deep breath, and the chill edge to the air seemed to revitalise him, awaken him fully from his still-lingering dreams. A large grin plastered his maturely handsome face.

"_Harry!_ Shut that window. It's bloody freezing in here."

Rolling his grass-green eyes, Harry grabbed the letters and silently did as he was bid. Bill, bill, bill, letter. He turned the envelope over in his hands. "It's from Albus." He announced.

Lily looked up from her book. "Can I read it Dad?" She asked eagerly, and in one fluid motion she had marked her page and set the book aside. "Oh please?" The lanky girl bounced up and down in her chair, wild locks jumping with her.

"I don't see why not dear." He passed her the letter and she squealed with delight – her bony hands couldn't get it open quick enough.

Harry smirked to himself. It was odd to see how different each of his children had become – Lily was so enthusiastic and outgoing, she really reminded him of the girl Ginny had been; Albus, however was the opposite, he was quite shy and awkward, but clever; James, like Lily, was loud but cheeky with it – he could really see his son causing trouble in the corridors of Hogwarts, it made him so rpoud, in an odd sort of way.

"Well, sweetie, what does it say?" Ginny placed a heaped plate before her only daughter, then did the same with Harry.

Lily's dark eyes were glimmering. "Oh it sounds so amazing there. I can hardly wait." Lily sighed, placing the letter to the side, on top of her book. Ginny picked it up and scanned it quickly.

"He's having such a great time, and meeting loads of people. He's in Ravenclaw. And he's already got a best friend." Ginny said, with a genuine smile on her face.

"Isis." Lily chimed in.

"Yes, Isis Lovegood. Ha, that must be Luna's daughter." Ginny folded up the letter and put it back in the envelope. "Ravenclaw eh? Looks like we have a brain-box in the family, at last." Ginny joined the table, smiling warmly; news from her son seemed to have lifted her spirits immensely. "I'm glad we decided to write early. It's good to know how he's doing. You were so worried, weren't you Harry?"

Harry did not answer, as he was cutting up his bacon with great intensity. He was trying to come off relaxed, but inside his mind was racing, and there was a heavy-ness sitting uncomfortably in his stomach.

Isis Lovegood.

The icy ominous feeling brooding in the pit of his stomach swelled up. Luna had always liked that name, it had been her mother's. She had loved her mother so much, Luna had told him that losing her mother had been the worst moment of her life, that she missed her everyday.

Harry had said it was a pretty name; he'd said it was perfect for a pretty little girl.

Coincidence?

She did have a baby soon after he left, a baby only a few months younger than his second son.

"Harry?"

The sound of Ginny's sharp, cutting voice broke him free from his paralytic state, but it did not remove the cold uncertainty from pulsating up through his body.

"Yes? Sorry, love?"

Ginny rolled her eyes with unnecessary expression. "You never listen to a word I say, Harry James Potter. I swear one of these days I'm going to hex you inside out." She uttered a hissing sigh. "You were worried about Albus weren't you?"

_What? What? Oh, right, yeah, the boy... the second one... just calm down. You're jumping to conclusions here. Everything will be fine._

"Oh yeah, I was just worried about him fitting in, he was so nervous."

Ginny snort-laughed. "_I_ always knew he'd be alright, he's a brave boy. He has to be. He's a Potter."

Harry got to his feet. "I'm going to work."

His wife fixed him with a sharp and suspicious look. "You haven't even touched your food." She spoke through a mouth-full of toast. She swallowed loudly before continuing. "What the great rush?"

"I'm not very hungry."

Before she had time to make another protest, he'd stooped to kiss her lightly on the cheek, ruffle his daughters' mess of hair and was in the hallway. He knew he'd have to answer some tricky questions when he got home, but he needed to think things through.

…

Harry sat in his study, parchment set before him, quill poised in his hand. The window was thrown wide open again – he found his thoughts came easier with the sound of crickets in the background and the smell of winter blowing in on the cool breeze. The hairs on the back of his arms bristled with goosebumps; it was awfully cold tonight. There wasn't a cloud in the inky sky, and the moon and stars shone brightly through the window like a million tiny lights from a far away city.

Harry sighed. How the hell was he supposed to write this thing? 'Oh hi, yeah, sorry I haven't talked to you in eleven years, how's things been?'

He needed answers, he knew that much. This whole thing was driving him crazy; he had to know about this girl, the girl who could quite possibly be his daughter. But he was scared, he wasn't going to deny that. He'd lived the past decade of his life thinking that he had done right on that warm summer evening, that his decision, though painful, had been for the best. He had, of course, done all he had for his children, it had all been in their best interests. Of course, in the beginning there had only been James. But then his wife had gotten pregnant again, and he had known that his thing with Luna wasn't going to work. He had other commitments, after all.

Harry had known that Ginny would not have been able to cope with two children by herself. Also the media scandal would have been unbearable. So he'd stayed with Ginny, and helped raise another child, and then another.

But now he found that Luna had a girl, not much younger than Albus. Had he left this child behind? Had he deprived her of a father? How many birthdays had he missed, how many Christmases? Not to mention her first smile, her first laugh, her first steps, her first word. Then the first day of school, her first bike, her first broom. Harry couldn't bear it. He had to know.

But how? How was he going to write this damn letter?

He took in a deep breath of the cool night air. The house was silent. The clock to his right proclaimed it to be quarter to midnight.  
He had to get this done. It wasn't going to write itself, however much he wished it. So, with a heavy heart, Harry Potter put pen to paper.

The letter was awkwardly written. But then again, how could it not be? He was writing to the lover he had shunned eleven years before.

_'Dear Luna, _

_First and foremost, I have to apologise. But you must understand, life got pretty hectic after I left you. It really was going to stay in contact, it's just that life got in the way. I kept putting it off and putting it off and then, eventually, it had been years, and it would have been awkward to write. I am very sorry about the way things panned out.'_

Harry paused. How the hell was he supposed to do this?

_'I'm sorry to hear about your father. We did mean to go to the funeral, Ginny and I. But Lily had a parent's evening, so we couldn't come. We're sorry we didn't tell you closer to the time.' _

Harry grimaced. He was such a liar. He had hidden that invitation, when it had arrived two years before. It had been an act of cowardice on his part – he had known that Ginny would have wanted to go, but he didn't want to face Luna. The thought of his wife and his ex-lover being within two miles of each other made his skin-crawl.

Of course, he had felt awful about it later.

'_I have been meaning to ask you something. It's been playing on my mind lately and I really must know the truth. I can hardly bring myself to ask it.' _

Harry paused again. He stared at the parchment. He stared and stared, completely losing his nerve for the moment. Outside the window, an owl hooted.

Harry forced the pen to paper again.

'_I've recently come into the knowledge that you have a daughter. And I am sure she is beautiful. And that's what I've written to talk about. This is hard for me, so I'm just going to come out and say it: is she mine? I need to know.' _

Harry scratched his whiskered chin, at a loss for how to end then damn thing.

'_Looking forward to hearing from you,_

_Harry Potter.' _

He let out a sigh of relief. It was done. It was poorly written, insensitive and rushed, but he'd finally done it.

Now, all he had to do was wait for an answer. And if that answer did not come? Well, he supposed that was fair enough.


	7. Chapter 6

Closer 

Chapter Six 

Time passed quickly for Albus. October rolled into November. Once you get into a routine, life kind of takes over, and before you know it, months had sidled past, as if in a dream. The icy winter rain came, followed by the icy winter sleet, the icy winter frost, and finally, the icy winter snow. Albus had pressed himself up against the window the first night the snow had fallen; all the others in the dormitory he shared had fallen asleep – but Albus had kept himself awake for the sole purpose of watching. He had cracked the window slightly, so the harsh wind bit at his exposed cheeks; he loved the silence. Snow brought the most absolute silence he'd ever heard; everything was still when the snow chose to fall.

He'd fallen asleep at the window that night, lulled by the quiet and dance of those delicate and pure ballerinas.

Albus worked hard in those months; he always had his homework done, he was punctual to every class, he took notes and he never spoke when the Professor was lecturing. And, inevitably, he earned a reputation as the withdrawn, bookish boy. A few people had tried to coax him out of his proverbial shell, but now they mostly left him alone, and that was definitely the way he preferred it. That wasn't to say that people didn't like him, on the contrary, he was a useful homework aid – it's just that they respected his silence. They would smile in the corridor, maybe say hi, that was all. They knew that trying to get him to talk was a lost cause.

Caleb Lockhart was unable to understand this for some strange reason; perhaps he kept forgetting. But he seemed to dog Albus' every step; it seemed that Lockhart was around every corner of the castle – no matter how much you ran, there was no escape. Luckily for him and Isis, who he also pursued, Lockhart was often kicked out of the library. He couldn't keep his loud mouth shut, which was a curse most of the time, but sometimes it truly was a blessing. It caused headaches, but it also brought relief.

Albus was never happier than when he and Isis where in the library together.

Albus actually counted Isis as a friend, which was a rare and monumental occasion. Of course in the past he had had 'friends', but they had been the type of people he had hung around with just so everyone didn't think of him as a 'loner', which, in a muggle Primary School, was worse than death. But, thankfully, he was shot of all that nonsensical business.

Here at Hogwarts he felt much more at home. And here with Isis he felt much more comfortable than he had with any other human being – he had found the wild extrovert to his reclusive introvert.

It felt nice to have a friend.

…

Harry finally received his reply in the last week of November. It was delivered to his work office, which he had specified on the envelope as last-minute precaution – what ever that pink envelope held was crictical either way, and he couldn't risk Ginny getting her hands on it, because no matter what it contained, she would have killed him if given the chance to read it.

He sat for a few moments just staring at the envelope, and that all-too familiar scripted handwriting on the front. Luna wrote in an odd scrawl, and he couldn't quite work out if it was a perfect example of gothic calligraphy, or a the scribble of a woman who's mind was otherwise engaged.

The large clock on the wall ticked steadily onward. It was strange, he reflected. It was all so very strange – he had spent the greater part of a month waiting for this letter, suffering in the agony of uncertainty, turned half-mad by a million little fantasies of what had been, could have been, should have been. And now, now the letter was here, resting in his hands, he had was searching for every excuse not to open the damned thing.

As if to make a point, he took a long gulp from the mug resting on his desk. Cold coffee. It was probably karma.

Finally, Harry peeled open the envelope. The letter inside was several pages long, and when he opened out the sheets, a couple of pictures fell out. Harry tried not to look at them yet. Instead, he set himself to the task of deciphering Luna's script – it was really hard to read when it was strung together in lumps.

'_Dear Harry,_

_I'm sorry that I haven't gotten back to you sooner, but I've had a million little things going on in my life at the moment. As you have probably seen in the Daily Prophet, I have recently become separated from my husband, and I've been using most of time on hexing him out of the window. He will learn eventually.'_

Harry had actually seen that story in the newspaper – it had been a tiny little article in the back, little more than a space-filler. It had simply stated that the grandson of the world famous Newt Scamander had moved away from his wife of five years. Not really a sensational story, but some of the older wizarding community found divorces abhorrent.

_'It was quite a shock to hear from you again. I'd been so long, I thought you had disappeared. Or that you didn't want to see me again, which, let us admit, is the truth of the matter. But that's ok, I do understand Harry, please don't make excuses now. I've come to terms with what happened, and I forgive you. I hope you forgive me. _

_It was a little disappointing not to see you at my father's funeral, he did so respect you after all you did. But, it really isn't that big of an issue. It was a while ago.' _

Harry felt genuinely awful about that. He and Xenophilius had been on good terms in the end. He had really grown to like the old man, and respect his patriarchal protectiveness of his daughter. The news of his death had deeply saddened Harry.

_'Now, to get on to what you really wanted to know. _

_In a short answer: yes, Isis is your daughter. And she is beautiful Harry.'_

Harry stopped reading for a moment, caught in a tempest on mixed emotions. First and foremost, he was shocked – he had another daughter, a little girl growing up away from him. He knew absolutely nothing about her. He had missed her childhood. He had missed the whole of her life. It was quite something to get his head around. Then, after the mind-numbing shock, came a short-lived joy, which was followed by guilt.

This poor innocent little girl had grown up without a father, simply because her father was a fool. A fool who had put himself in a position of having to choose between two women; a man foolish enough to think he had made the right decision. But, in reality, there had been no right decision – neither party could win, no matter which way he chose to go.

Then another wave of guilt hit him. He had left Luna to deal with all of that by herself: pregnant and looking after an ill father. Then, after that, she'd had to look after a baby and a dying father. And she'd not even written him a little note, nothing, she had bore the brunt of it all – he had said that he would keep in contact, but he had lied and he had left her all alone. Harry groaned, rubbing his hands over his tired face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus himself. He might as well read the rest of this thing and get it over and done with.

To try and motivate himself, he took another hearty gulp of coffee. He had forgotten that it was cold.

'_I don't really know what to tell you, other than the basics. I named her Isis, after my mother, as I'm sure you concluded. Isis Persephone Lovegood, born on the 1__st__ of March 2005. I've included a couple of pictures; one from her first birthday, one with my father, and one from muggle school.'_

Harry carefully picked up the pictures scattered on his desk. The first was an aerial picture of a newborn baby asleep in her crib. She was so small that the tiny, power pink baby-suit dwarfed and hung off of her. She had a petite face, and a messy matt of blonde hair already. Harry gently stroked her sleeping face. Every so often, she would twitch and wriggle in her sleep.

The picture he picked up was summery. He recognised Luna's overgrown and wild back garden as the setting; the grass grew long, and a mess of plants and trees grew in from every direction. They swayed gently in a long forgotten spring breeze. The focus of the picture was a man, visibly weakening; he had become little more than a ghost of the man Harry had known – his face was heavily wrinkled and withered, and his frame was wasting away. Still, on his thin knee he bounced a little girl, no more than four or five years old. She was wearing flowery denim-dungarees, obviously made by her mother. Her hair was still short, he imagined it would have been a bob-cut if the wild curls had behaved themselves. She was laughing her head off at all of the crazy faces her grandfather pulled at her. Her little pudgy face had gone pink from the hilarity of it all.

The third and final picture was still, a muggle picture. The girl in the portrait was, to Harry's judgement, about nine years old. She wore a blue jumper that seemed about two sizes too big for her skinny little frame. Her hair was scraped up in a tight pony-tail, a weak attempt at taming the unruly mass. At least in the this picture Harry finally got to see his daughter's face. She was gaunt-looking, perhaps because she was so lanky, and had prominent cheek-bones. Her skin was creamy and relatively even; and the teeth that crowded her full smile were a little uneven, but you could tell that was going to correct itself over time. Isis, he realized, looked a lot like her mother, she had pretty much the same petite features, though perhaps her lips were a little thinner. But what struck him most were her eyes – large and doe-like with innocence, one was a silvery gray, the other was a vibrant grass-green, his own eye colour. It was perfect, and it was inconvenient, but most of all it was beautiful.

Harry felt his chest swell with pride; that was his daughter.

He read the remainder of the letter:

'_I don't know what else to say to you, Harry. I feel that we need to catch up on things. You've missed a lot, and if you want to know anything you can write or come and see me. I'll understand if you don't want to. You may keep those pictures if you want, if not please return them to me; I'll understand that too. _

_Luna x' _

Harry set the letter down and let out a great sigh. In some way, it felt like a great weight had been lifted in his learning the truth, but as one weight lifted, another one descended. Harry Potter was obviously not destined to have an easy life, but that was his own doing really.

He looked over the pictures fondly. He had a daughter. Isis was his little girl. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry; neither of them seemed really appropriate. He thought for a moment, tracing his fingers over his daughter's portrait. He would have to write to Luna again. He still had so many questions, it made his mind reel.

Harry Potter, once again, set a piece of parchment before himself. And this time the words came easy.


End file.

Harry Potter, Drama, Romance